


No Heroes

by Neliore



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Dubious Consent, Just Bear With Me, M/M, Oral Sex, Prostitution, This is pretty random, but it will make sense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 22:04:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5718751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neliore/pseuds/Neliore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And there are no heroes here, only whores"</p><p>Satin received an offer he couldn't refuse--keeping the three boys safe in a brothel he himself would manage seemed like an easy task. But a couple of moons later, when they were brought to him, he knew there was going to be trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My everlasting thanks to wonderful [bluetilo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetilo/pseuds/bluetilo) for the beta and for being an amazing friend <3

Satin sits in his chair and looks across the desk at the three boys standing in front of him. None of them speak, and he finds himself again reflecting on his position. A proprietor: whoring days behind him, only managing this establishment. That is a tremendous success, especially in such a young age--he's barely 19--and it's these three boys and some extraordinary circumstances that made their paths cross what he has to thank for the gift bestowed upon him--freedom. Relatively speaking.

When Loras Tyrell came to him in that dungeon in Gulltown, Satin was shocked. They only shared a few encounters scattered over several years, but Satin didn't think Loras even remembered his name--he was just a pretty boy whore and Loras didn't really visit the brothel so much. He wasn't one of his regular customers, so when he showed up that day, Satin thought he must've mistaken him for someone else. However, his initial surprise was nothing compared to what he felt when he heard why Loras was there and what he wanted him to do.

It was the new Lady Tyrell's bidding. The two of them were her brothers. The third boy was a friend of some sorts, almost a brother, and the Queen wanted them dead. The new Lady Tyrell's marriage made her safe, and now she pleaded for them. Loras didn't really care, Satin could see it, but his brother, young Lord Tyrell, wouldn't say no to his lovely lady wife. So Loras made Satin an offer--he will pull some strings to set him free, but Satin is to keep the boys safe, hidden in a brothel somewhere in Dorne that Satin himself will manage.

Loras' relationship with the brothel owner didn't interest Satin, nor was it ever explained--nobles had their intangible bonds, nets of favours owed and granted--and Satin was just a convenient pawn. But keeping the boys safely out of sight seemed like an easy task and a small price to pay for the stroke of luck he was given, so Satin agreed on the spot.

He at first thought he would just manage a brothel and the boys would remain as they were, not expected to do anything but stay stealth. On his way to Dorne however, he received a letter that told him otherwise--the brothel owner wouldn't tolerate the burden of feeding and clothing the youths for nothing. Everyone must earn their keep, and these boys were no exception. If Loras, or Lady Tyrell for that matter, knew about that, Satin didn't know. He guessed that Loras probably did. As for the Lady Tyrell, well, maybe she thought anything was better than death. Satin had to agree.

He settled in the brothel nicely. It was a fine establishment, large and elegant, four wings spread around the huge inside courtyard. It was well kept and had a large number of servants. The whores were versatile and knew their job well. Satin found it easy to run. But a couple of moons later, when the boys were brought to him, he knew there was going to be trouble.

Now, brought to his chamber, they stand awkwardly, not knowing what to make of all this. Satin can see the confusion displayed in their faces as they process the information--that they're expected to sell their bodies and not merely live there for free. They protested, argued, pleaded, but now they seem tired of it all, and are therefore silent, maybe trying to think their way out of this predicament.

Satin sighs, observing them. The tall one, called Theon, is very handsome, with dark hair and blue eyes. He was at first happy to hear he'd be living in a brothel. He didn't need to brag, although he did, for Satin to conclude he must've been a frequent visitor to such businesses in the past. And with his chatty smooth manner and handsome boy looks, girls must've been crazy about him. Now, upon hearing what they're to be, Theon doesn't seem so smug or happy anymore. His confident little smirk, that Satin found both incredibly charming and annoying at the same time, died down on his lips. He cursed and argued, finally falling silent after Satin failed to react.

Robb, the one with auburn curls, still tries to maintain some air of dignity, but Satin can see that he's scared and uncertain. Every so often, he looks at Theon, as if for guidance. He protested eloquently--big fancy words, sounding important and scholarly. And while Satin could see his reasons, there's nothing he can do about it. The orders were clear.

The third one, Jon, didn't say a word so far. He seemed sullen and gloomy even before Satin informed them of their fate. Now he's giving him these dark offended looks, but his defiance seems so vulnerable somehow. Satin finds himself strangely drawn to his gruff quiet manner.

Satin nods his head. He can sympathise. Those are noble lads, they were born into great rich houses and their lives shouldn't be this. But he has to do as he's been told, and his sympathy might be comforting, but it won't help them much.

"I understand that you did not expect this," he says. "But this is the only way you will be safe. And alive."

Theon snorts. "Alive," he says with some sort of amused contempt. "A living whore."

Robb joins the protest. "I'd rather die a hero."

For the first time, Jon speaks, "Honourable death is better."

Satin clears his throat. "I beg to differ. Speaking from a personal experience, I'd much rather be alive."

Their insulted gazes reach out to his heart, and he adds more softly, "If you behave, do as you're told, if you... learn well, you can be very happy here. I will treat you kindly, make sure you're never mistreated. You will have a good life."

Theon chuckles. "And all we have to do is fuck a few old ladies that come here and pay?" He shakes his head. "I am a man of taste. And standards. I like my wenches young and pretty, not some shrivelled old hags."

Satin is becoming impatient with his attitude, but he doesn't let it show. He says, composed as ever, "You will fuck whomever pays, be it a young and pretty wench or an old hag. And you will also spread your cheeks to be fucked, by whomever pays to do so."

That causes the commotion among the boys. They all speak at the same time, and Satin has to raise his voice. "Please. Stop talking. Your sister, Lady Tyrell, pulled a lot of strings to have you here where you'll be safe. Think of her sacrifice that she--"

"Sansa would never. She must have not known. She'd rather see us dead," Robb interrupts him, to the approval of the other two.

Theon adds, "What if we just walk out now?"

For a moment, it looks as if they're ready to do just that, and Satin can see the two men guarding the door place hands on their swords, ready and alert. He raises his hand in a reconciliation gesture, his voice calm when he speaks. "The guards outnumber you. And you are unarmed. You wouldn't even get past this room."

"At least we'd die fighting," Robb supplies. His brash words and his bravado betray him for who he really is--just a young boy, scared and trying to hide it.

"They would not kill you. I am ordered to keep you alive. This whole charade _is precisely_ to keep you alive. They would simply return you here to me."

Theon asks, "They would not fight us?"

"They would. And they would find ways to bend you to my will, but they can do that without killing you."

The daring look all three boys throw him somehow manages to soften Satin even more. He wanted to be harsh and cold, and with the whores he was quite professional and distanced, but he never would have guessed he'd find himself so full of understanding for those three lads.

He says, "I understand how you feel, but you have no choice. Besides, that is not something that will happen tomorrow. You will have to be trained first. And that is never really fast. And in the meantime, maybe my instructions regarding you will change and it turns out it was a misunderstanding and you don't need to... participate in any kind of activities you wouldn't want. Or maybe your sister finds another safe place. But for now, please, for your own good, just do as you're told."

The prospect of their fate possibly changing over time, and the fact that there aren't people lined up waiting to fuck them immediately must have given them hope, for they seem to calm down, pondering on the possibility of this all being a misunderstanding. Satin knows it isn't, but he had to tell them something. They will accept the truth in time.

"Good." He nods approvingly. "It will be better for all of us if you cooperate."

He sends them then to the chamber they will share. They must be tired of their journey and the shock of the incredulous news he's told them, so he decides it's enough for now.

The room for the boys is located right next to Satin's own chamber. He thought it best that way. They will be close by and with as little contact with others as possible. The room is spacious and airy, with feather beds and a large desk. There are chairs and some toiletry supplies, clean linen and clothes. There is even a bathtub. None of those are exactly luxurious, but they're still much better than what the others get. Satin made sure they're comfortable and not in need of anything, but the boys seem unimpressed. He shrugs it off--after all, they spent their lives in castles and this is just a whorehouse.

Satin leaves them be and goes about his business--the brothel is always busy, the Dornish are a lusty folk and the business is blooming. It is only the next day, around noon, after he's broken his fast, that he decides to proceed with the boys. But for what he has to do now, it will be better if they come to him one by one.

He thinks who should he call first, then settles for the quiet boy, Jon. He is the least chatty of the three, but Satin seems to like him the most, and he also thinks Jon's quiet manner will work to his advantage--Jon might protest the least. Plus, Satin's not sure if his morning sour mood bears enough patience for Theon's mouth. So Jon it is.

The boy comes to him still wearing his black garb from the day before.

"Good day, Jon," Satin tells him, smiling. "Sit." He points to a chair in front of his desk.

Jon mumbles his greeting and awkwardly approaches, doing as he's told.

"Did you have a good rest?"

Jon nods, then clears his throat and adds, "Y-yes."

"Good. I'm pleased to hear that." Satin gives him a warm smile that grows even wider when he sees the boy shyly smile back. It was only a second before he returned to his sullen mask, but that second has encouraged Satin to continue talking.

"So how are you finding it here? All well?"

"Well, we... just got here... The room is fine." Jon shifts on the chair, looking uncomfortable again.

He is quite pretty, Satin notices. A tangle of black curls, wild and messy, makes him throw his head back slightly whenever the hair gets into his eyes. And the eyes are big and dark grey, whose depth Satin hasn't really seen before. He is slim and slender, but his clothes hide sinewy muscles, shaped by the years of whatever physical activity those young nobles partake--sword fighting or anything such. He seems to have a habit of licking his lips, probably the nerves-- _gods, am I making him nervous?_ \--and his glorious full pout looks absolutely delectable. Satin thinks there will be many willing to pay to feel those lips on them. But such thoughts are distracting now, so he clears his throat.

"Jon," he starts again. "You will be living here, with me as your... um, how shall I put it... well, I am directly responsible for you. That means I will train you--" he sees the boy's eyes widen and quickly adds, "in pleasantries and appropriate conduct, and many such things. I will be the one who you can turn to for whatever you may need. So it is important that we establish this... trust. _Mutual_ trust. And that we get along well." Satin smiles.

Jon is looking down, but he raises his eyes every so often, still looking like he'd rather be anywhere else than here.

Satin pours them a cup of lemon water. He gets up and walks around the desk, but notices that is making Jon even more nervous, so he quickly goes back to his seat.

"Can you tell me a little bit about yourself? How you got here? Where you were before? Things like that. Whatever you wish to share. You may also ask anything you want."

Jon nods, taking a sip. He takes a deep breath and gives Satin a short confused glance before he speaks, "I was up North, at the Wall, when they took me."

"The Wall?" Satin echoes. "That sounds... interesting. Were you a, how you call them, a brother of the Night's Watch?" That would explain his black clothes.

"Yes," Jon replies.

Here is a boy who decided to spend his life in the eternal cold, shunned from the world, and there are so many things Satin could ask him--how come he made such decision? is it really so cold? how big is the wall? what was his life like there?--but all Satin can think of is celibacy. Here is a boy, young and pretty, who _willingly_ vowed to stay chaste. Forever. Gods be good.

Satin smiles again, forcing himself to find a meaningful, relevant thing to ask. "So how did you get here?"

"There was a raven. News about the... about the new Queen and... we were preparing to go on a ranging. The biggest one in the history of the Watch. But then we didn't because the Queen arrived. There was a great fire, they say it was a dragon, but I didn't see it. It killed the... the white walkers and... there was a battle and so that was it." Jon takes another sip.

Satin waits for him to continue, but as the boy is still quiet, he asks, "And then?"

"The Lord Commander, Lord Mormont, and Maester Aemon, they hid me. During the battle. Said I was killed. But they kept me hidden, thinking the Queen might want me dead." Jon sighs, shaking his head slightly, then he shrugs. "Then the carriage came and took me to Oldtown, where I met with Robb and Theon. I never thought I would see them again. And then we were brought here."

Satin raises his eyebrow. He feels strange. Jon has answered his question, but it was in so few words, and this getting to know you better, bonding kind of conversation isn't really going the way Satin planned--Jon is still tense and sullen.

Well, at least Satin tried. And now he has to do what he must.

Satin has done this to boys countless times. Some of those boys were virgins, freshly arrived to the brothel he used to work in; the proprietor there was a fat man, afraid his thick fingers would spread the boys too much, damage the goods. So he always asked Satin to check them instead. Satin's fingers were thin and delicate, his manner was gentle and kind, and the boys were barely reluctant in the end, always much more at ease with him than with the fat and austere proprietor. Satin's had his fingers up some noble boys' asses, as well. And while they weren't virgins, they were far from reluctant--all of them quite willing, in fact. This, however, is different, and Satin swears he will do his best to be benevolent in his duty.   

"Stand up," he tells Jon.

Jon looks at him with uncertainty but obeys.

"Have you washed yourself last night? Or this morning?"

Jon blushes slightly. He must sense that the time for talking is over and something else is about to come. "We... we cleaned ourselves. Yes," he mutters. "In the basin. We didn't use the tub. But yes, we... um, we cleaned ourselves."

"Good," Satin praises. "You know you can ask the maids to prepare the bath for you whenever you like?"

Jon only nods. He looks around himself as Satin stands up and comes in front of him. Satin smiles again, trying to make him more at ease.

"Undress."

Jon opens his mouth, blushing even brighter shade of red. But Satin is now stern, as he stares straight at him, not moving, so Jon reluctantly starts undoing his doublet, then, even more slowly, the laces of his shirt.

Once the shirt is gone and Jon is naked from the waist up, he looks at Satin expectantly. Satin gives his torso an appreciating glance. He looks at Jon's breeches, and nods.

Jon shifts from one foot to another, but other than that and his pout becoming more prominent, he doesn't really move.

"Go on," Satin urges him. "Breeches too. Then the smallcloths, if you wear them. Undress until you are completely naked."

"My lord, I--"

"I am not a lord. Call me by my name only. And undress."

When Jon still doesn't move, Satin sighs, tapping his fingers on the desk. "Should I have to call the guards to undress you? Or would you rather do it on your own free will, while it's just the two of us present?"

That seems to work, and Jon starts dabbling with the laces of his breeches, then quickly steps out of his boots, pulling the breeches down, then folds them neatly over the chair. He is in his smallcloths, giving Satin a pleading look.

Satin can't not find this entertaining. He chuckles. "Those as well. Come on, Jon, be good for me."

With a deep breath, Jon slips out of his smallcloths, shielding his crotch with his hands. Loras Tyrell must be mad. This shy boy being a whore--Satin would gladly laugh out loud, but he doesn't want to make Jon even more uncomfortable, so he only smirks.

"Good," he tells him. "Very good."

Satin takes his hand to Jon's, and it is with some effort that he manages to remove Jon's hands from the pretty thing he's been hiding. This slow cautious undressing has managed to stir something in Satin, and he feels himself hardening, but he controls himself, taking a step back, tapping Jon's hand gently when he again tries to place it over his crotch.

Satin observes him. His cock is nice and white, nestled in the dark bush of his pubic hair. Jon's skin is milky pale, he looks smooth and beautiful. A boy and a man at the same time. Satin circles him, admiring the view from behind. His ass is round and firm, pert little thing. It's all Satin can do not to touch it.

"Bend over the desk."

"What? No." Jon turns around.

Satin knew this would be hard. He sighs. "Like I said, we can do this now, just the two of us, or I can call the guards to hold you down."

Jon licks his lips. "Please." His voice is faint. "What do you want to do to me?"

"Oh don't worry, nothing of the sorts you might think." Satin assures him. Though that's not really true, as Satin would most certainly want to do all sorts of unimaginable things, but now he only needs to inspect him. "Go on, bend over."

Jon bends over, blushing wildly, seeming stiff and restrained.

"Have you ever been with a girl?" Satin asks.

"No."

He takes out the little jar of oil, dabbing his finger in it.

"With a boy?"

"N-no."

"So you are a virgin?"

"Yes."

"Good," Satin says, as he gently touches Jon's asscheeks.

Jon tenses to the touch, but stays in position. Satin slowly spreads the flesh of Jon's buttocks, to Jon's faint grunt of distress. "It's all right, I won't hurt you. This is just to check some things. Relax," Satin tells him.

Jon doesn't relax though, he is taut and fidgety, but he still stays bent over as Satin's oiled up finger touches his asshole. Satin is now hard as a rock, with this beautiful boy bent over his desk, ass spread ready to be fingered, but he is a professional, if anything, so he stays focused on the task ahead of him.

He slowly inserts one finger, just the tip, when Jon's hand reaches back. Satin slaps it gently. "Nu uh," he coos, pushing it away.

"Please," Jon begs. "Stop."

Satin pushes his finger just a little bit further up, and then he stops. The boy is a virgin all right, tight and sweet, all seems to be well, no use tormenting him further. He takes the finger out, giving Jon's ass a fond pat.

"You can get dressed now," Satin says, and Jon rushes to obey.

Once Jon is clothed, Satin looks at him, smiling again. "That wasn't so bad now, was it?"

"It was," Jon says, sulking.

Satin chuckles. "No, it wasn't. It didn't hurt. That was just the tip of my finger. I was gentle. And I stopped when you told me."

Jon nods, blushing. But Satin can see it was his pride that took this badly, the pain wouldn't have really been an issue. _Well, that is something we can work on._

Satin goes back to his chair. "Now you may return to your room and rest some more. I am sure you must still be tired."

"Thank you, my lord," Jon mumbles, obviously happy he's been given leave.

"Please, it's Satin. I am far from being a lord." Satin smiles, then adds, "Send Robb to me next, alright?"

Jon frowns. "My-- Satin, he's... Robb is not used to... this."

"Neither are you, but we've managed alright."

Jon shakes his head. "No, you don't understand. I am... a bastard, so it doesn't matter. But Robb is different. He's highborn. He shouldn't be trea--"

"Just send Robb next," Satin cuts him off. Seeing Jon starting to sulk, he adds more softly, "And don't worry about it. I will not hurt him. I haven't done anything horrible to you either, he will be fine."

Jon leaves the room in silence, and Satin drinks some more of the lemon water, wondering how his meeting with the other boy will go.

Robb comes to him, obviously apprehensive, but smiling. They exchange pleasantries and Satin finds Robb more approachable than Jon. He is certainly more talkative. Satin at first finds his seemingly easy-going manner a bit strange, given the circumstances, but then he guesses that Robb somehow must be thinking there's a way out of this, that he can win Satin over if he makes him sympathetic enough.

That must be why he tells Satin pretty much his whole life story. About the great northern castle they grew up in. About the siblings he now misses so much: his sister Sansa now married to Willas Tyrell and how beautiful she is and such a lady; his two brothers escaping the Queen's horrible revenge on the families of those who fought for Robert Baratheon, by venturing far up north, beyond the Wall, to the lands of always winter; his another sister missing without a trace, probably dead somewhere. He talks about his parents: his father beheaded, and his mother, mad with grief, killed in wights' gruesome attack on Winterfell. He talks about the war that made him king and the battles he fought and won. And most of all he talks about Theon. He is always there, present in Robb's stories. They grew up together and Satin can see Robb holds him in high esteem, looking up to him. He explains how the Queen stormed the countryside, killing everyone who wouldn't bend the knee. He knew his northern army was no match for dragons but, just before he decided to kneel, they heard how she fed both Tywin and Jaime Lannister to her fire-breathing beasts, and everyone was saying she would do the same with the Starks, even if they did bend the knee. So a couple of his bannermen thought it better not to risk it, because of his father's involvement in Robert Baratheon's war, and hid him. He would not go without Theon though, so that's how Theon came along, even though the Greyjoys were spared as allies--Theon's own father lead a rebellion against Roberth Baratheon after all. But Theon himself chose to stay with Robb.

He talks and talks and talks. Satin listens, amused. He feels this will help him get to know them better. The politics never concerned him. One king or queen or another, that's all the same to Satin, none had any impact on his life. However, this new Queen's arrival did, and he finds himself fascinated with the stories Robb tells him.

Robb keeps on talking even as he undresses at Satin's command, but his voice becomes shaky. Satin realizes that, while he is definitely less shy than Jon, Robb's constant chatter isn't merely him trying to win Satin over. Robb is actually incredibly nervous, but his talking is a way of hiding it--he is so tense, but acting like he isn't. Satin can't help but feel sorry for the boy.

When Satin tells him to bend over, Robb makes a break in his story.

"Did Jon have to do the same?" he whispers, lowering his head.

"Yes," Satin replies, with a patient smile.

Robb hesitates for a little longer, nervous chuckle escaping his mouth. "Will Theon have to do this too? Are we all going to--"

"Yes, Robb," Satin interrupts. "All of you, and there's nothing to fear, I will not hurt you. It's just a little check I need to make."

Robb blushes a bit, his pink smooth skin glistening in the sunlight, freckles burning bright red. But then he bends over, resuming with his story in a feeble voice.

He tenses when Satin's finger probes into him, and stops talking altogether. He's tight and all seems well, so Satin's finger is gone in a second and Robb relaxes again.

"You are a virgin?" Satin asks him.

"Um, yes. Yes, I am. I've never been with a girl. There was a war and--"

"What about boys?"

Robb laughs. "What about them?" He starts getting dressed again.

"Have you been with boys?" Satin clarifies.

Robb shakes his head, denying.

"Good." Satin smiles. "You may return to your room, Robb. And tell Theon he's to come next."

Robb walks towards the door, obviously relieved, and Satin can see the amused little smile on his face when he turns around. "Theon's next?"

"Yes, that's what I said."

Robb walks out with a mysterious smirk, leaving Satin to ponder how is it possible that this young boy was made a king. He no doubt has many qualities, and Satin is sure he's well taught and diligent, but he is still just a young boy. The wars made the whole country insane. Satin goes back to his desk to wait for Theon.

Satin knew Theon will be difficult. He sits in the chair offered, his legs spread wide, arms crossed on his chest, giving a lot of attitude. He definitely doesn't seem to be in a friendly mood, and since Satin's heard about him from Robb already, he decides to go straight to the point.

"Undress."

Theon scoffs. He is not moving.

"Theon," Satin explains, "do obey me. Undress. Unless you'd want me to call the guards to undress you?"

That works and Theon stands up and starts carelessly tossing the clothes down to the floor. He doesn't shield himself, like the other boys, but stands confidently in all his naked glory. And he is indeed very handsome. Satin observes, then nods his head approvingly.

"Are you a virgin?" he asks.

Theon snorts contemptuously. "Of course not."

His almost offended response Satin somehow finds endearing. He smiles a bit, then proceeds with the questions. "So you have been with girls before?"

"Thousands of times." The tone of Theon's voice is flat, but daring.

"And with boys?"

Theon chuckles, but says nothing.

Satin waits for a few moments before repeating his question. "Have you been with any boys, Theon?"

He fixates Theon with his eyes. He can play this game too, besides he's the one in charge.

 After what seems to be a small eternity, Theon finally looks to the side, slightly flustered. "I might have fucked a few boys as well. So what?"

Satin smiles, but remains gracious in his triumph. "Has any of those boys ever fucked you?"

"What? No. I'm an Ironborn, we don't do that. We're not thus inclined. We only ever do the fucking," Theon says, grinning.

Satin wonders if that was supposed to be a provocation of some sorts, but he decides to let it go. He comes to stand closer to Theon. "Bend over the desk."

But Theon has seen the jar in his hand and, once more full of contempt, snorts. "No fucking way."

"Theon, please do as I tell you, it's nothing to fear and will be over in a moment. Don't make me call the guards." Satin tries to reason with him.

But Theon is adamant. "No. We don't do it like this. I will fuck you, if you want it so bad, but I'm not bending over any desks. Not for you, not for anybody."

"Theon, I'm not gonna fuck you. Just do as you're told." It's not that Satin starts losing his patience, but he knows that Theon will just not do it.

He gives Theon a few moments, then calls for the guards. And it's such a struggle. But it's two of them and they do manage to hold him down, as he trashes with his legs, swearing all the while. Satin stands behind him, oiling his finger.

He gently kicks Theon's legs apart, leaning against his thighs to keep them in place. Satin is gentle, no doubts about it, but Theon shouts at the intrusion, torrent of curses and threats that Satin pays no attention to.

He pulls his finger out after making sure all is as he's expected, but he doesn't give leave to the guards just yet--Theon is angry, and bigger and stronger than him. Satin isn't afraid of any blows he might inflict, but he is the brothel's proprietor and it would be unseemly to sport a black eye. He'd much rather not take any risks.

Theon, after he registers that the intrusive finger is out and that Satin is no longer touching him, calms down, still mumbling something under his breath. When the guards let him go, he grabs his clothes and hastens to put them back on, looking daggers at Satin.

"I will give you boys a few days to rest, get used to this place, but then we will start with your training," Satin tells him. "You may return to Robb and Jon now."

Theon storms out of Satin's chamber, not even dignifying him with a reply, and Satin wonders if the task ahead of him, that he agreed so eagerly to undertake, might be a bit more than he can manage. Robb seems the easiest to handle, but Jon and Theon, each in their own way, will be hard nuts to crack.

He busies himself with some paperwork, then goes to rest before the evening. As he lies in his bed, warm wind rustling the silk curtains on his chamber window, Satin feels restless. His hand reaches down, beneath the soft sheets. He would never do it, he knows it's out of the question. Maybe later, when the boy is no longer a virgin, if the feelings are mutual. But not now, the virginity is a highly priced commodity, and Satin takes his job as a proprietor seriously--it's either that or the dungeons of Gulltown, or worse--no, he won't even touch Jon. Neither one of them, for that matter. But as the early dusk starts to fall, Satin finds his skin covered in goosebumps. He shifts on the bed. The hand goes beneath his tunic. It brushes the nipple, pinching slightly. Satin closes his eyes, as his hand travels further down, inside his breeches. No, he won't even touch him, he mustn't. But now, alone, as he strokes himself languidly, his mind summons the memory of how it felt to have Jon bent over his desk, his pretty pale skin soft and warm, and Satin's finger inside his tight virgin asshole.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After several days, Satin summons Robb to dine with him, and they instantly get worried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My greatest thanks to sweet [DoubleBit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubleBit/pseuds/DoubleBit) for being a wonderful beta and such a dear friend <3

Satin leaves them alone for a few days. They need to rest after their long, dangerous journey, and Jon, Robb and Theon have time to get familiar with their surroundings and their new life. They explore their whereabouts--the garden and some of the brothel--but they are cautious not to mingle too much with anyone, still uncertain if their true identities are at risk of being discovered.

They are not allowed to go outside the walls of the brothel, and there's only so much of the garden and house for them to range over, so they spend most of their time in their bedchamber talking. It has been a long time since they've last been together, and on their journey to Dorne they worried their conversations might be heard by unfriendly ears so they mostly kept quiet. Here, alone, they are finally at ease, and they talk.

Jon felt jittery the first few days, but now he's more relaxed. And he's happy to be around Robb again. Even around Theon. The two of them were never really close and Robb has always served as a buffer between them. Now he's more like a bridge. After such a long separation, Jon is grateful for the tiniest piece of his long-gone childhood, and finds he has actually missed Theon as well. Theon also seems to have decided to put their antagonism aside, and is friendly with Jon. True, he can still be an ass sometimes, but that's just how he is. Jon feels this new fate they share has brought them all closer.

They haven't seen Satin since the day he invited them to his chamber separately and ordered them to strip and do something more that Jon doesn't really wish to think about. But Satin's presence is felt, not only in the faint sweet scent that lingers after him in the hallways, but also in the attentiveness of the servants. Chambermaids come to them often enquiring if they need anything, making sure they are fed and clothed and feeling well. Save for the fact that they're in a brothel and expected to sell their bodies, their situation feels rather pleasant.

They talk a lot, but certain topics are somehow always avoided. They mentioned the rest of the Stark family several times, and their mood turned so sour--Robb even cried, and Jon, clumsy to comfort him, retreated to his own sullenness, pensively staring out of the window, stubborn in his silence. It took Theon a good hour of rambling about  some ridiculous and lewd mishaps to cheer them up. After a while, there's an unspoken agreement between them not to talk about the Starks.

Also, they don't mention what Satin did to them that day. When Jon told Robb that he was wanted next, he didn't tell him a word of what happened. Robb, upon his return, seemed normal, and likewise sent Theon on his way without telling him a thing. It was only after Theon had left that he turned to Jon, asking, "Did you have to undress?"

Jon blushed and confessed. Robb didn't even manage to voice his second question before Jon asked him not to talk about it. Robb was ready to agree, but then he started cackling, imagining Theon undergoing the same inspection.

"And he was so happy to hear he'd be living in a brothel," Robb said, laughing.

That made Jon join the laughter as well. After all, they couldn't do much else.

When Theon returned, however, he insisted he only had to undress and that Satin never touched him. Both Robb and Jon knew better, but they kept quiet. Silence about the events of that day suited them well enough.

While avoiding those two subjects, they talk about their days in the war, or Jon's life at the Wall; they comment on the Dornish food and weather, and the size and appearance of the brothel. And this is one of the rare moments that Jon thanks the gods for Theon Greyjoy's big mouth, as he can talk and talk about everything and anything, and somehow that feels comforting.

After several days, Satin summons Robb to dine with him, and they instantly get worried. Jon is sullen and brooding, while Theon is full of empty threats. Robb leaves, looking very apprehensive. The couple of hours they spend waiting for him to return feel like a lifetime to Jon. Based on Theon's edgy chatter, Jon concludes Theon must be just as nervous.

But when Robb returns, he looks relaxed and in a good mood. They only had supper together.

"What did he want?" Theon asks.

"Nothing, just to talk over dinner." Robb shrugs.

"What did you talk about?" Theon wants to know.

"Ah, just anything and everything, nothing in particular. He wanted to know how we're finding it here, and also things about our lives before. He was very pleasant," Robb explains.

That appeases them, and they go to bed relieved the dinner invitation didn't carry something hidden and more sinister with it. Jon still expects Robb to tell him, when they're alone, that Satin wanted and did more, but that doesn't happen. It appears it really was just a dinner.

The next day it's Jon who's invited to sup with Satin. It's early evening, a couple of hours before the brothel's busiest time. Even though Robb assured them that it was nothing more than a shared supper, Jon still feels quite fidgety.

He finds Satin in his bedchamber, lounging on the settee, an elaborate meal spread in front of him. He is all dressed up, in white silken tunic, loose fitted and embroidered, and fine breeches of deep green colour. His hair is long, looking soft and immaculate. Satin is very beautiful, Jon notices yet again, and his delicate features give him a certain feminine quality. Jon has never really seen men like that. It's not only what Satin did to him last time and where and how he touched him that makes Jon nervous, but also that he makes Jon feel somehow inadequate and drab.

But while Satin's mere presence makes Jon tense, Satin himself is obviously trying to make him more at ease. He gives Jon a wide and honest smile, and Jon can't help but return the gesture.

"Good evening, Jon. Please, do sit down." Satin points at the chair on the other side of the table.

"Thank you," Jon says, as he shifts in the padded chair. He takes a deep breath, thinking Robb would most certainly have told him if this dinner carried something else with it, and tries his hardest to relax and look Satin in the face.

"Have you rested well after your journey?" Satin asks. "Is there anything you need to feel more welcome? Are you comfortable here? "

Jon nods. "Yes, I would think so."

"So how do you like it here?"

Jon isn't sure how to reply to that. So far he likes it fine enough, but the idea of what they're expected to do and what kind of a new life awaits them is far from fine. And Satin's look is not only kind, but inquisitive--he's expecting a reply.

Jon clears his throat, then says the truth, "These last few days have been good. Thank you. But... I don't think that I can... do what you expect me to do."

That makes Satin look down. When he raises his head, his smile is gone. He even looks a bit sad.

"Jon," he starts, "It's not my doing. It's not what I expect. You know I didn't make this arrangement. If it was up to me, you wouldn't have to do anything you didn't want to. I simply have to do what I am told, because I have no choice. And that is what you should also realize--that sometimes you have to do things you might not wish, because you have no choice."

"There's always a choice," Jon tells him.

Satin gives him a rueful smile. "What other choice is there for you?"

To that Jon says nothing. He knows the other choice is most probably death. For both him and Robb, and maybe even Theon. Despite being a Greyjoy, he sided with Robb in a feud with the Queen who feeds her foes to her dragons.

After Jon fails to respond, Satin again asks, though they both know the answers to these questions already, "Do you have a home to return to? A family member you could turn for help? Another safe place to hide?"

Now Jon looks down. He knows Satin is right. Still, he tries. "I could be a sellsword. Maybe go to the Free Cities."

Satin raises his eyebrow. "And how would you get there?"

"By boat, I guess."

"Hmm. And you would pay for the crossing with what?"

"I could work for my fare. Both Robb and I. Theon too."

Satin takes a sip from his cup, then licks his lips. "And the moment the ship's captain realizes who you are, he'll deliver you straight to the Queen for a hefty purse of gold. He'll end up richer, and you'll end up as a nice feast for her dragons. Come, Jon. You know how that journey would end."

"He might not realize." Jon is a little offended.

Satin shakes his head. "Of course he would. The three of you travelling together, with your northern clothes and your northern speech, he'd have to be deaf and blind."

"Then how do you think we will remain here, if everyone would know us on the spot?" Jon asks defensively.

Satin sighs. "Here you won't ever really be shown together. You will wear whatever you're given to wear, and you will work on your speech. Also, three northern boys, reeking of privilege yet working for their fare to the Free Cities is slightly more revealing of your true identity than three well-trained boywhores who speak little, mind their steps and make clever choices. No one would ever expect to find you, or any other noble lad, here."

Jon stays silent.

"Eat," Satin urges him. "This doesn't have to be unpleasant. And I don't mean just this supper. This whole situation, your life here, doesn't have to be unpleasant."

"Easy for you to say."

There's a hint of frustration in Satin's voice when he speaks, "I was once where you are. Without a choice. Selling myself for a living. But with _no one_ to protect me. That has always been my life. And let me tell you, and please do believe me, being a charge of a kind and benevolent person makes all the difference. I will never let you be mistreated. To that I swear."

Satin places his hand on Jon's. His skin is warm and the touch is gentle. Jon raises his eyes to find Satin looking at him with an undeniable affection.

"Your brother seemed to understand this. Last night when we spoke," Satin adds. "And I hope that you do too."

Jon does understand, but that doesn't mean he's happy about it. He starts eating though. The food is delicious, and the two men are quiet.

When Satin pours him a cup of wine, Jon nods his thanks. And again, those big smiling eyes seem to set his face ablaze. Jon feels his cheeks reddening and he's not even sure why. His gaze follows Satin's fingers, long and delicate, as Satin plucks some grapes. Then the fingers travel to Satin's lips, full and pretty, where they linger even after the grape disappears inside his mouth, and Jon suddenly thinks how those fingers touched him that day. It must have been the most obscene thing that has ever happened to him, but apart from that lewd feeling, it wasn't physically unpleasant--Satin really was gentle and didn't hurt him. But thinking about that now unsettles Jon. He feels a tangy taste at the corners of his mouth and he knows he must be blushing like mad, so he quickly takes a sip of his wine, hoping it might help clear his head.

"The wine is good," Jon says truthfully, trying to break this uncomfortable silence.

Satin smiles. "Yes, the Dornish red. Exquisite, isn't it?"

Jon nods.

"Do you like wine?" Satin asks.

"Um, yes. I guess."

"Your brother liked it as well last night," Satin explains. "If you wish, I can send you boys a flagon on the morrow. Though that's not really allowed. I shouldn't have you drunk and unruly, but I guess a flagon now and then won't hurt. Would you like that?"

"Thank you," Jon replies. Then he thinks for a moment, and asks, "Won't Theon be with you tomorrow evening though?"

Satin raises his eyebrow, corner of his lips tilting upwards in a mischievous smirk. Then he cocks his head to the side, eyeing Jon carefully. "No. Why would he?"

That makes Jon feel stupid. He opens his mouth, but in the end, he just blabbers, "I, uh, well I thought since both Robb and I were here, eating with you, that tomorrow it will be Theon. I thought... that you're... well, each one of us would-"

Satin's chuckle interrupts him. Seeing Jon's confused look, he explains, "No. I don't think a supper with Theon would be as pleasant. He will take some time to adjust." Then Satin grows serious again, looking him straight in the eyes, and adds, "I'd much rather have another supper with you."

Jon's first reaction is to beam at this compliment, but then some strange terror washes over him. He thinks he doesn't dare to ask Satin explain, but the word breaks out of his mouth before he can stop it, "Why?"

Satin takes his hand. "Because I like your company. And I think it would be good if you became more relaxed around me. Like I said the other day, it is important that we develop mutual trust. And understanding."

Jon doesn't reply, but he doesn't pull his hand away.

After a while, Satin breaks the touch and, plucking more grapes, asks, "What is it? Tell me. And don't feel shy or scared."

"I'm not scared," Jon says.

"But you are shy. Tell me, what is it?"

Jon takes a deep breath. And truth be told, Satin does seem friendly and nice, and he really shouldn't feel so tangled up or distrustful. He takes another sip of wine, gathering courage. "What you did to me--to us--that day... and what we're to do here... You say you will train us... but I can't imagine myself... ever... doing any of... that."

Satin's hand again reaches for his, and it takes an enormous effort for Jon not to look down.

"Jon, I know this is hard for you, but we both agreed you have no choice. You see that yourself. And I promise you I will do my best to make this as pleasant for you as possible. There will be things you might not be comfortable or happy doing, but in the end, none of those are worse than what your fate would be elsewhere. And maybe not all of it will be so bad. Perhaps you might even come to enjoy things you'd never consider before."

Jon drops his head, feeling sullen. Satin rises from the settee and sits next to him, his hand touching Jon's hair gently. It's not exactly a caress, but Jon feels shivers as Satin's hand moves, down his cheek, touching his chin, prompting him gently to look up.

Satin continues speaking, "I swear I will never be unkind. I will be patient and considerate. But we simply have to do what we must. And I promise I will do anything that I can to make you happy here, but you also must promise to be a good boy and do as I tell you. Will you do that? Will you be a good boy for me?"

Jon swallows hard, then nods. Satin asking him to be a good boy makes him wish to be precisely that. He is not sure why, but he finds his body shamelessly responding to Satin's words--something warm stirs in his belly, then travels further down. His ears drum slightly as blood rushes to his cock. Why is he getting hard now? When he speaks, his voice is a barely audible whisper. "Yes."

Satin cups his face. "Good boy," he says, pressing a soft kiss on Jon's forehead, before he swiftly retreats to his settee.

Jon keeps staring at his own feet until, some moments later, Satin says, "Very well then. You may return to your bedchamber. I should also return to work."

He smiles at Jon, but Jon detects something nervous in Satin's look. He gets up to leave. "Thank you for the dinner."

Now Satin's face has its usual genuine warmth once more. "You are most welcome. And I will send you that wine on the morrow."

Jon walks to the door, but just before he steps out, he turns around, asking, "You don't have to... You're not selling- You're just a proprietor?"

Satin looks as if the question has surprised him. Seven hells, it surprised Jon as well. He's not sure why he thought of that, or why that matters, and where he found the guts to ask that.

Satin eyes him carefully. " _Now_ , yes. I am just a proprietor." Then he smiles, adding in a playful tone, "If it should matter to you."

That again has Jon blushing. "I was just... asking. Good night."

Satin's amused smirk follows him out the door, and Jon feels he can't get away from it quickly enough.

 

Back in their bedchamber, Jon finds an opportunity to talk to Robb when Theon goes to the privy.

"When you had dinner with Satin last night, what did you talk about?" he asks.

Robb gives him a cautious look. "This and that. Nothing in particular. Why?"

"Did he tell you... about this matter... how we don't have a choice?"

Robb is serious. "And we don't."

Jon chews on his lips, staring at Robb. "You seem to accept that well enough."

"Not any better than you," Robb retorts.

Jon nods, deciding to let it go. But one thing nags at him. "Did he touch you?" he asks.

Robb looks at him, confused. "No."

Jon persists. "He didn't kiss you or anything?"

Robb chuckles. "Of course not. We just talked. Did he kiss you? Touch you?"

"No. Of course not." Jon denies immediately. "I was just worried he might have done something like that to you. I don't even know why I asked. Forget it."

Robb smiles and shuts up, but the moment Theon is back, he says, "Satin kissed and touched Jon."

"What? No. He didn't." Jon is outraged.

Theon laughs like mad, with Robb giggling as well, to Jon's angry embarrassment.

They don't tease him any more than that though, Robb probably fearing it might be assumed that Satin also touched or kissed him the night before, and Theon probably fearing he might be the next one to be touched when he goes to see Satin.  

But later that evening, as Jon shifts and turns in his bed, chasing a sleep that won't come, he hears hushed whispers from the other corner of the room.

"No, he didn't. I swear."

"If he did, or if he even tries-"

"I'm telling you, Theon, he did not. Now sleep."

"I am a bit cold."

That sounds unlikely, as Dorne is anything but cold. Theon is obviously lying. But Jon hears the soft rustling of sheets, and then footsteps, before Robb whispers again, "Better now?"

"Much better. Move your elbow a bit, yes that's good now. Gods you're so warm."

This conversation surprises Jon, and he's not sure how to react. Robb has moved to Theon's bed. And Theon must have lied about being cold, and Robb can't be stupid enough not to know that. But then again, they did share beds in Winterfell, maybe it's nothing more than a close friendship. Why is he even thinking it could be anything else? Where did he even get that idea? But the thought stays there, firmly set in his mind, and Jon can't unthink it. He feels strange. He clears his throat, making it known he's awake and can hear them.

"Go to sleep, Snow," Theon drawls from across the room. "Or is it thoughts of your sweetheart giving you gentle kisses, fingering your asshole, that's keeping you awake?"

Both Theon and Robb giggle at that.

"Fuck off, Greyjoy, and shut up," Jon barks, and they fall silent.

After a while, though Robb and Theon aren't making any more noise, Jon still lies awake. And he finds himself thinking about what Theon said. Well, not about what Theon said. But he does think about Satin.

He can hear distant chatter, music and laughter from the brothel, coming through the windows. Jon wonders what Satin is doing now. Then he thinks about the question he asked Satin, and he closes his eyes with irritation. Why did he ask that? It shouldn't even matter to him.

He replays the entire evening in his head--all that Satin said, and how he touched him; how his lips were soft and how sweet he smelled. By the time Jon remembers himself bent over Satin's desk, with Satin's fingers probing into him, he is already rock hard. He tries to fight it, but the need is too strong--it's been a while since he's done this. Jon hopes Theon and Robb really are asleep and they won't hear his hurried breathing as he strokes himself. He feels as if he can again sense the touch, slow gentle invasion, so lewd. His one hand wraps firmly around his cock, while the other goes further down, under his balls, to rub the skin close to his entrance, pressing slightly. Jon speeds up, and the pictures in his mind speed up too--it's Satin's smile, his eyes, his fingers, eating a grape, caressing his hair, touching his cheek, cupping his face; Satin's lips pressed to his skin, the touch smooth and tender; it's Satin's scent, sweet and sensual, smelling of spices and pretty flowers--but it's only when he again hears Satin's voice, saying "Will you be a good boy for me?" that Jon spends, shuddering in bliss.

As he heaves, trying to regain his breath, the smallest of moans escapes him. Jon quickly shuts his mouth, in panic.

And true enough, there's a quiet scoff from across the room. "Tosser," Theon mutters.

Jon is paralysed, fearfully waiting to hear Robb's laughter, but after a few moments, Jon relaxes again, allowing his body to drift into soft slumber. At least Robb is asleep. Thank Gods for small mercies.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Satin decides they have rested enough, the training starts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My never-ending gratitude to my dear, sweet [DoubleBit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubeBit/pseuds/DoubleBit) for being such a lovely friend and a most fantastic beta <3

Theon knows he'll be the first one to get in trouble--he always has been--but he's surprised that it happens so quickly. Especially since, despite Theon's attitude, he actually finds Satin to be easy-going and patient. That's why Satin's reaction stuns him.

After Satin decides they have rested enough, the training starts, much to their dismay. And seeing both Jon and Robb --especially Robb-- looking so fearful, Theon simply has to give his best. Or worst, depending on the point of view.

He hopes the boys find courage in his obtrusive behaviour. Theon sasses Satin, never shutting up, never missing an opportunity to say something lewd, or stupid, or to provoke Satin in any way imaginable--all that somehow gives the impression that the situation can't really be so grim if Theon's running his mouth like that. And while Jon and Robb might find some comfort in that, Satin probably finds it incredibly annoying.

Despite all his patience and good will, Satin only lasts about an hour.

And it's ridiculous, not even that severe a slight, but the numerous little poison arrows Theon's been sending Satin's way must have unleashed his sudden outburst.

And it starts as a joke, really.

The moment they get inside Satin's chamber and take their seats, Theon grins.

"So, Satin," he sneers, "seeing as this training has started, why don't you come over here and suck my cock, show us how it's done? So we can see if you're even good enough to teach us."

Satin remains cool. He even smiles. "Today we will talk more about pleasantries. But I assure you, Theon, I am indeed very good, so when we get to the part you seem to anticipate so much, as my skill is already established, it will be you sucking _my_ cock. That is, unless it frightens you."

This makes Jon and Robb chuckle a little, but Theon doesn't give up so easily. "The thing is, you look like a girl, and even if I wanted to--though I'm not saying that I'm _frightened_ to--but even if I wanted to, I'm not sure you actually have a cock. You sure you're not a eunuch? I know they're not that common in Westeros, but I heard that in the Free Cities--"

" _Pleasantries_ , Theon," Satin interrupts him, but seems otherwise unaffected. "That's what we'll be discussing today. Maybe even more in days to come. Because, you see, I believe you may learn to suck cock much faster than you may learn to be pleasant."

Theon opens his mouth before even thinking of what to say next, but Satin continues, "So, please, do be quiet now, and let's get on with this."

Then he starts telling them how to treat customers, how to smile, how to listen, what to say and what to not even dare utter, things like that. And it's just so awfully boring, Theon uses every opportunity to interrupt. His remarks grow more and more outrageous and Jon and Robb both appear proportionally less subdued in their giggles. Theon can see Satin starting to lose his patience.

In the end, it's not so much Theon's words that irk Satin, but the fact that his barging in is causing a commotion between Robb and Jon--they laugh openly and nobody is paying any attention to what Satin is saying.

So after one rather innocent remark about Dornish women, Satin takes a deep breath, serious all of a sudden. He glances at the two guards at the door, and in an instant they appear beside Theon, taking him by the arms to bend him over the desk. Just as swiftly, Satin produces a leather strap out of somewhere and gives Theon's ass five sharp licks. It's over the clothes and Theon has endured many more painful beatings in his life--this is nothing really--but Robb and Jon stop giggling.

Theon hasn't even recovered from the shock, or even managed to voice his protest, when the guards push him back into his chair.

"Now, as I was saying," Satin continues with his lesson as if nothing has happened, and for once Theon shuts up.

It's not that he was frightened by the beating--this was so light he almost didn't even feel it--but he worries that if he continues being obnoxious something more might happen. And right in front of Robb and Jon. Theon wouldn't want that; it's better to keep quiet.

He scoffs a little, rolling his eyes, but stays silent.

After Satin has told them all there is to know about how to treat customers and how to behave, he sends them back to their chamber for supper.

Theon behaves like nothing is out of the ordinary, and soon both Robb and Jon stop looking at him in a cautious way and they spend a relaxed evening, seemingly unaffected by the events of that day.

The next morning, their training continues, and after a brief revision of what he taught them the previous day, Satin announces a short break and leaves the room. In the meantime, maids bring them some lemon water, and soon Satin returns with another boy.

"This is Elias," he announces. "He will be assisting in today's lesson."

Elias is a handsome lad, all golden hair and sun-kissed freckles. He doesn't appear to be much older than 16, though Theon can't be sure. The boy smiles, nodding his head in a greeting, and sits in the chair Satin shows him.

Satin looks straight at Theon as he says, smiling, "Now we come to the part Theon was looking forward to."

Theon smirks, trying to seem unruffled, but Robb and Jon both blush, the look on their faces betraying  their desire to be anywhere else but here, but also their undeniable curiosity. _This is gonna be fun--both_ for the lesson Satin will give them and for the boys' reaction to it.

The room is suddenly so quiet, Satin's soft footsteps are the only sound audible as he slowly approaches them. Theon sees both Jon and Robb somehow shrink in their chairs. Satin stands right in front of them and smiles.

"Before we get to the technical part of it, I want you to pay attention to what comes before. How to set the mood. You have to make the customer believe," Satin's eyes fall on Jon, "that you are just _dying_ to suck his cock."

Theon can't help a smug little grin. He knows the game Satin's playing. But when Satin turns to Robb, Theon feels a sharp pang in his chest.

"You have to observe the customer's reactions. Read him. Try to figure out what he likes." He touches Robb's hair gently, then trails his fingers down Robb's cheek. Robb blushes, squirming. When Satin touches his lips, Theon can see Robb's mouth quiver slightly.

"Some men like to be touched, so caress them." Satin's hands do just that to Robb's face and neck, as Robb swallows nervously.

Then he's back to Jon again, slowly pulling the laces of Jon's shirt. Jon's hand makes a small movement, as if to stop him, but in the end he just sits frozen, his face blooming a wild shade of red.

"Some men take great pleasure in slow teasing. Makes them shiver with anticipation." Jon's shirt is unlaced almost all the way down to his stomach, and Satin's hand leisurely explores Jon's chest beneath the fabric. Theon can see him brush Jon's nipple, the touch now firmer, as he stares straight at Jon's face. Jon closes his eyes, opening his mouth stupidly, but just before he voices a protest--because that's what Jon would most probably do, prude bastard--Satin leaves him be and comes to stand in front of Theon.

Theon raises his eyebrow, grinning expectantly. Satin smirks, looking like the naughty little whore that he is, and bends down slightly, his face only inches away from Theon's.

"And some men... like to be kissed." He descends on Theon's mouth and Theon returns the kiss readily. He is a good kisser, this Satin lad, Theon can give him that. And Theon knows why Satin picked him specifically for this--a kiss would be too much for both Jon and Robb at this moment; they're still not ready, and of course Theon would make a natural choice, and Satin, apart from being a very skilled kisser, seems to also have a brain and can see the obvious. So he hums quietly as Satin's tongue slowly probes inside his mouth. Theon's hand reaches the back of Satin's neck. He won't allow Satin the satisfaction of seeing him squirm like a green boy at the slightest sign of pleasure. No, Theon wants to assert himself, show his dominance.

Satin doesn't seem to mind though, and allows Theon's fondling. It feels good, and Theon's sure that the other boys are watching, so he puts on a show for them, another hand going down to Satin's waist, pulling the boy down to straddle him. But Satin breaks the kiss and moves away, sniggering at Theon's eagerness.

He looks at them, suddenly all business-like, and continues speaking, "Don't rush straight to the cock, unless the customer wants it that way, but take your time." He smiles, eyes again on Jon. "Seduce him."

He stands behind Robb, who is as flushed as his brother, and places his hands on Robb's shoulders. Satin presses, massaging slowly, measured moves taking his hands down Robb's torso.

"A man is not only a cock," Satin says wisely, "so pay attention to other parts of his body."

His hands have now worked their way to Robb's waist, and the pressure they apply there, fingers slowly disappearing inside the hem of Robb's breeches, makes Robb gasp. Theon can see Robb is hard, his cock tenting the cloth that confines it.

Satin smiles, wicked thing, and steps back, turning again to Theon.

"Some men," Satin speaks, touching Theon's hair, nails brushing his scalp, "like it when you're gentle."

Theon scoffs, unsure why, but that's better than simpering like Robb did under this knowing touch.

"And some men," he turns to Jon, fingers now lost in Jon's curls, "like it when you're rough." He pulls Jon by the hair, yanking his head backwards so suddenly that Jon yelps.

Satin releases him, placing his finger on Jon's mouth. "Shh, it's fine. It didn't really hurt, did it?"

Jon shakes his head, muttering, "N-no."

He's hard as well, the fool.

Satin rewards Jon with a smile, then again moves to Robb. Robb shifts, breathing deep. Satin bends forward, his lips so dangerously close to Robb's, as his hand slowly touches Robb's waist. He is silent, and apart from the tiniest smirk, his face is a stone cold mask. He is looking into Robb's eyes without a word, and his hands now freely press the bulge in Robb's breeches.

"Ah," Robb gasps at the touch, and Theon wishes to smack Satin for this liberty he is allowing himself, but at the same time, seeing Robb coming undone is a sight most treasured and Theon wishes Satin would do even more.

Robb's loud gasp breaks the silence, and Satin explains, throwing a mischievous look at Theon, "Don't undress him straight away. Get to know him while he's still clothed."

His hand is palming Robb's cock through the fabric of his breeches and Theon sees Robb swallowing hard.

"Take your time," Satin says, and just as Robb starts to protest, he steps back, turning to Jon.

And Jon is a mess, Theon can see. He is so nervous, licking his lips and blinking stupidly. Jon keeps his legs pressed firmly against each other, sitting upright, but his erection is quite prominent.

Satin touches his hair first, brushing few stray locks aside, then his fingers move down Jon's face, trailing around his lips. Slowly, tenderly, Satin presses his palms against Jon's chest, pushing him back in his chair. Then his hands go down Jon's body, down along his thighs, until he holds Jon by the knees. Satin lowers himself languidly and kneels in front of Jon's firmly pressed legs.

Theon sees Jon's lips utter a silent _please_ , as Satin stares at Jon's eyes, determined. Satin's gaze travels down to Jon's crotch. Jon is blushing, his hands gripping the chair, as Satin observes the swelling inside his breeches with an unhidden interest.

"What is very important," Satin resumes, "is that you maintain eye contact." He raises his eyes to Jon's face again, and it's indeed an amusing sight--Satin calm and composed, and Jon falling apart.

With a sudden move, Satin spreads Jon's legs wide. Jon all but jumps. He writhes as Satin's face comes closer to his crotch.

"Touch him," Satin whispers, his lips almost pressing against the fabric of Jon's black breeches, "over the clothes. Until he is mad with desire."

Jon closes his eyes, but Satin's hand darts upwards to grab him by the jaw.

"Pay attention," he says sternly, and Jon meekly opens his eyes again, looking down at Satin with such a pleading look it would make the walls cry.

Satin buries his face to Jon's crotch, still looking up at him, and inhales deeply. His face rubs slowly against Jon as he lifts himself up. Again, there is a caress on Jon's flushed cheek and a tender smile of approval, before Satin steps back.

Theon is hard too, this teasing the boys were subjected to has made him quite aroused, and he's looking forward to his turn. But to his surprise, Satin goes to where Elias is sitting. "Now we will begin with um, a more hands-on approach."

Elias, who has been sitting quietly, an unfazed witness to Satin's performance, now stands up obediently, giving his chair to Satin.

When Satin sits and spreads his legs, Elias kneels between them, much like Satin did with Jon.

"Elias will now show you how to suck cock," Satin says matter-of-factly.

Theon snorts. "Why don't you do it? You seemed to have really grabbed their attention." He gestures towards both Jon and Robb.

Satin chuckles, not moving.

But then Jon unexpectedly says, "Yes, you do it." And Satin smiles, raising an eyebrow in surprise as he looks at Jon again.

Jon is blushing, chewing on his lip, but Theon has to congratulate him on this supplication--his depravity must've been stronger than his prudence to have him speak like that. But when Robb joins in on that request, Theon can't help but feel a bit jealous.

"Very well," Satin says, standing up. "I don't see why not."

He pushes Elias back into the chair and in a few quick moments unlaces the boy's breeches. Elias pulls them lower, shifting.

"Are you comfortable?" Satin asks him.

"Yes, sir," Elias responds. "I just didn't expect this, is all."

"That's alright. Just try not to spend too soon." Satin smiles at the boy, taking his cock out. Then he turns again to look at Jon, Robb and Theon. "Pay attention." And really, the way he smirks, Theon has to chuckle.

Elias is not hard yet, so Satin at first just teases him, touching his cock slowly, toying with it, turning it to the side, observing. When he lowers his head and spreads his mouth, Theon moves his chair closer.

Satin's lips wrap around Elias' cock, and he works at it, sucking dedicatedly until the boy gets hard. Then he smiles, satisfied, giving the boys a side-ways glance. "Now I can't really talk at the same time, so just watch everything I do. Come closer if you can't see."

Robb and Jon stay in place, but they crook their necks to the side, to get a better look.

Satin has his hand around the shaft, going up and down, while his tongue circles around the head. Elias sits still, but he's breathing deeper, Theon can see. So are Robb and Jon. Satin wraps his lips around Elias' cock and bobs his head, sucking. Elias grunts quietly.

Theon can't see what's happening inside Satin's mouth, but whatever it is his tongue is doing must be really good as the look on Elias' face is that of pure pleasure. Then Satin pulls away, and licks his way down to the balls. He kisses them, slowly taking them in his mouth, one at the time. He plays with them for a little while, and then proceeds to lick the cock, his tongue pressing down, until it reaches the head. He teases the slit before swallowing it again. He goes at it until the entire length of Elias' cock is down his throat. That's impressive. Satin doesn't even gag. Theon has had his cock sucked that deep few times, but all the girls choked and couldn't really keep it up. Satin seems very skilled.

Theon glances at Robb and Jon. They are as impressed as he is, but unlike him, they show it, mouths open wide in amazement, cocks threatening to tear the cloth of their breeches. Gods, he can even see the little wet stain on Robb's crotch, he's leaking. Theon is sure Jon is too, but Jon's clothes are black and the colour masks the wetness.

Satin still sucks, dedicated and focused, his lips obscenely spread around the thick throbbing cock, but every now and then Theon can see him looking in their direction. After a while, it becomes obvious Jon is the object of Satin's gaze. Theon must hand it to him--that is a sly and cunning game he's playing with the poor bastard. He's teasing him right out of his mind. Theon might even feel sorry for Jon, but there's nothing to be sorry for--Satin's not doing anything bad. In fact, there's a promise of some great joys coming Jon's way, if he'd only be clever enough to get it. 

Elias has started grunting louder. At times, he even moans. Theon sees his hands squeezed into fists by his side. Satin slows down, trying to make him last longer. Elias lets out a groan of frustration, but after that he neither moves nor protests.

Satin again works on his balls, and Elias resumes breathing steadily, but every little lick or touch sends his cock jumping. After a while, Satin has his lips around it again. Now he's no longer even trying to hide the glances he sends Jon's way, pretending he's looking at all three of them. No, he is now openly staring only at Jon, while his mouth goes up and down Elias' cock.

_Shameless whore_. But it is amusing. And Theon can't blame him. In fact, if it was him and Robb, he'd do the same. Theon remembers suddenly that he is imagining himself in Satin's place, sucking some stranger's cock, and all to seduce Robb Stark, but as outrageous as it sounds, this room and all the lewd things happening here make it seem somehow acceptable to think such things. He only wonders why Satin hasn't gone straight to Jon's cock. Why is he sucking this other boy? He could have easily done that to either one of them.

He clears his throat. "Satin? Maybe it's our turn now?"

Satin stops to look at him. "You want to suck Elias' cock, Theon?"

Theon laughs. "No. I mean, maybe now you can suck us."

Satin chuckles. "Not yet. No."

"Why not? Elias seems ready to burst, let him be and come over here."

Both Robb and Jon are silent. And while Theon expects Jon to maybe support him in this request, the fool is mute. _Idiot_.

But Satin shakes his head. "No. If I were to touch you like this, who's to say nothing more will happen? And you were brought to me virgins, I made sure to check that you were. So you stay like that until someone pays high enough to pluck your pretty flower. For now, you only watch."

Theon snorts. "You're saying we can't control ourselves and the moment your lips touch one of our cocks we'd go mad with desire and beg you to fuck us?"

"No." Satin smiles at him. "But if my lips were to touch your cock, you wouldn't be the only stakeholder there. Who's to be sure that _I_ can control _myself_ and not bend you boys over, have my way with you?"

_By the drowned god, the audacity_. Theon chuckles, but before he can say another thing, Satin silences him. "Be quiet now, let me continue."

He goes back to his task, once more taking the full length down his throat. Theon sees Elias tremble slightly, the muscles in his thighs clenching. Then Satin doesn't suck so deep, but his mouth attacks Elias' cock with such fervour that Elias starts whimpering. It is obvious he can't last much longer, no matter how hard he tries.

Satin looks up at Elias, nodding once, and the boy's pleading look now turns to relief, as he relaxes, his hips pushing upwards, fucking Satin's mouth. He comes with a long moan down Satin's throat. When the boy has calmed down, breathing loudly, Satin turns to face them, licking his lips, cleaning any traces of seed that might have escaped.

Theon is hard as hell, and he can't wait to be alone to toss himself off. But his arousal is probably nothing compared to either Jon's or Robb's. They are both inexperienced and have never seen anything like this. Theon is sure that the red in their cheeks is not so much from shame anymore but from sheer lust.

Satin looks at them fondly, though somewhat smug, as if he hasn't just swallowed a mouthful of cum. "It's an acquired taste," he says. "But you will get used to it." He looks at Robb's crotch, then Jon's, then Theon's. "Maybe now, when you... take care of yourselves, you can try your own, see how it goes."

"Or we can bring it to you in a jar, seeing as you like it so much." Theon grins.

But Satin laughs. "Hmm, as appealing as it sounds--since I am certain I would just love the way you taste--I am afraid that's not really such a good idea, Theon. Like I said, it's an acquired taste, and not  one _I_ need to get familiar with."

With that, Satin walks to his desk, patting Elias on the shoulder amicably as he walks by him, and out of the drawer he produces a long wooden phallus. He gives them a wicked grin as he feels its smooth lacquered surface.  "You should also work on relaxing your throat."

He throws the phallus to Theon, and Theon hates himself for instinctively outstretching his arms to catch it. He scoffs, because there's not really anything else he may do.

Satin takes out two more of those from his desk, giving them to Jon and Robb.

"But only use it on your mouth. Try to imitate what I did today, get your mouth familiar with things being stuffed inside. And do _not_ , under any circumstances, presume to play with it in any other way. I don't want you to even think of shoving it up your asses. Is that clear?"

The boys blush, perplexed, holding the foreign objects in their hands as they were something deadly. Theon shakes his head. He walks over to Satin, and places the phallus on the desk.

"You keep it, Satin. I am gonna go have a wank."

He leaves, heading for their chamber, and it really doesn't take long, just a couple of strokes and a few pulls to have him spurting out his release. By the time Jon and Robb are back, he's already relaxing in his bed, ready to doze off.

The boys go straight to bed as well. Theon hears the sheets rustling. He is sure they are both waiting for the others to fall asleep so they could appease their raging erections. Theon smiles to himself in the dark. How his life turned out to be, gods. He never would have believed it, had someone told him. But what's here is here. No use thinking about what could have been. True, when he agreed to go with Robb, he had no idea this was where they'd end up. But Theon knows he'd hate himself more, being safe and leaving Robb to this fate, alone and scared. Because that's what he is. Alone and scared and looking up to Theon as if he can make it all go away. Theon wishes he could.

This with Satin today, and what's coming, isn't really bad at all. They're having a bit of fun. Gods know the boys do need some loosening up in that regard. So he doesn't worry about that so much. But the thought of what may happen when their so called training is over, the fact that there will be someone fucking Robb Stark's virgin ass just because he paid for it, that pains Theon beyond belief.

Theon is not so worried about Jon, though he's also become dear to him. It's obvious Satin likes him a lot, and he is nice and gentle. Jon will be taken good care of. All that talk about them being virgins and Satin not touching them because they're to be kept untouched for prospective clients, Theon knows it will all go out the window the moment Satin is alone with Jon. And Theon is sure Jon is in good hands--Satin shows care and tenderness, he will be as sweet as possible.

But Robb...

Theon thinks about Robb's naivety, his pleasant agreeable manner and good heart, but, most of all, he thinks of his pretty curls, freckled skin and firm young body. How tight he must be, how warm. Yes, nothing quite like fucking a virgin. But he can't stand the thought of someone taking Robb like that. First times hurt, and Theon doubts anyone could ever be gentler to Robb than him. Theon can't let that happen.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon is slowly becoming aware of what is going to happen to him. His mouth is dry, and he takes one of the cups from the table. It's wine, delicious and full, yet it tastes sour to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't find words to express the extent of my gratitude for my most wonderful beta. Dear, sweet, beloved [DoubleBit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubleBit/pseuds/DoubleBit) , you are an angel. Thank you so much <3
> 
> And thank you, dear readers, for your kind and patient support. This summer has turned out to be a lot busier than I anticipated, and I am again moving countries, thus the delay. I hope this chapter is worth the wait. Do let me know <3

At first, Jon doesn't dare touch the wooden phallus Satin gave them. But soon, his curiosity gets the better of him. He waits to be alone--Robb and Theon lounging around the garden, enjoying the Dornish weather--and he takes the phallus out, carefully holding it.

It's long and smooth, cold to the touch, and Jon blushes so hard at the obscenity of the object. He looks over his shoulder several times, fearful that his brother and Theon might return at any moment. He doesn't do anything with it, just observes. When his fingers start gliding along its length, Jon feels so silly he immediately stops. But then he remembers all the things Satin did that day, how he touched the three of them and how he sucked Elias' cock, staring straight at _him_ all the while. He saw yearning in Satin's eyes then, but it seems so lewd and so wrong, that he's torn between seeing it as a sweet cherished memory and an embarrassing guilt-inducing torment.

In the same way, his regard for the wooden phallus goes between curious amazement and angry shame. Sometimes at night, when Jon touches himself thinking of Satin, he wishes he has the object in his hands too. That way he could pretend he is touching Satin's cock, rubbing him at the same time he rubs his own. But those thoughts only last for as long as his arousal peaks, leaving Jon feeling even more guilty and ashamed afterwards as he lies in his bed, spent and panting.

As far as Jon can see, Robb doesn't seem to worry about the phallus as much. He never speaks of it to Jon, but Theon has found a way to break through Robb's armour. At first, Robb seemed equally ashamed, but soon, Theon's lewd jokes made him laugh, and now the wooden object is no longer held in any kind of reverence--Robb either ignores it, or jokes about it with Theon.

Robb spends a lot of time with Theon now. Jon doesn't really mind, but sometimes he feels out of place, like he doesn't really belong, or as if he's intruding. So Jon leaves them alone often. He walks around the brothel and the courtyard, making sure to stay out of everyone's way. Soon, his little outings start unerringly taking him to Satin every time.

At first, he just lingers in front of Satin's chamber, pretending he is only passing by. But one day, he lingers for a longer while, and the maid, going out with some washing, leaves the door open for him to go inside.

Jon is uncertain, so he knocks once at the already open door, stepping in.

Satin raises his head from his desk, giving Jon a wide smile.  "Jon, come in."

Jon enters awkwardly, closing the door behind him.

"Have a seat." Satin points at the chair next to him, and pours some water in a cup.

"Uh, I... I didn't know if you were busy," Jon says.

"No, just some paperwork. It's tedious and I could use a break."

Jon is unsure what to say. He hasn't planned on actually entering Satin's chamber, but now he's here, and Satin doesn't seem to mind.

"Did you need anything?" Satin asks.

Jon shifts in his seat. "Um, no. I was just... bored." Then he looks at Satin, feeling his cheeks flush.

Satin raises an eyebrow, smirking. "I thought you might have struggled with your training and perhaps required a private lesson."

If Jon wasn't blushing like mad before, he most definitely is now. But seeing his embarrassment, Satin chuckles. "I am just teasing, Jon. You are more than welcome to come here whenever you like. I understand there isn't much to do around here for you boys. And it is good you decided to seek me out."

Their training takes place almost every day, and so far they haven't moved much further than the cock-sucking. Satin probably sees how uncomfortable it makes them, so he stalls it, obviously, never forcing them to do anything other than observe, while he explains the technique and sends Elias to heaven every time.

This time, as well, Satin seems to be aware of Jon's unease, and after pouring him some more honey water, he just sits smiling, waiting for Jon to relax or perhaps talk. And when Jon doesn't do either, it is again Satin starting the conversation.

"Is your brother with Theon?" he asks.

"Yes, they are... close," Jon says. Then, fearing he might have implied something he shouldn't have, he quickly adds, "They've been best friends since childhood."

Satin nods. "And you?"

"What about me?"

"You're not as close with them?"

Jon takes a sip of his drink, then licks his lips. "I am close with Robb, but... there are differences. Theon is highborn, and I never dared presume..." He falls silent, swallowing hard. He doesn't feel like talking about the times before, nor about his bastardy, but Satin doesn't push it.

"Well then, you can always come seek me out when you feel like it. You and I can be just as close." Satin smiles. "Despite some... differences, there are also many things we have in common."

Jon nods his agreement, then excuses himself to leave.

But after this meeting, he really does seek Satin out often. Almost every day. He comes to Satin's chamber to talk, and after a while, he no longer feels so uncomfortable in this beautiful boy's presence. In fact, he finds Satin's company soothing. Theon and Robb spend a lot of time together, it is only fair that Jon should have someone to talk to as well. And Satin doesn't seem to mind at all. He always has a smile and a kind friendly word for Jon. If Satin teases him at times, Jon gets used to that too. Besides, his teasing is not like Theon's. It is gentler, carrying sweet promises of fondness, and in a certain way Jon even enjoys it.

Several days later, Jon again finds himself a third wheel with Robb and Theon whispering and laughing about something, so he takes his usual route to Satin's chamber. He knocks, but upon entering he finds it empty.

Returning to the long corridor, he spots a maid carrying some linens, and enquires about Satin's whereabouts.

"He's in the main wing, in the west parlour," she replies.

Jon thinks about it. He knows this is where Satin sometimes greets important customers, but that's been exclusively in the night time so far, and it is only early afternoon now. Satin must be taking care of some papers or changing the decorations or any such thing. Jon heads towards the main wing.

The parlour door is closed, so he knocks once and enters without even waiting for a reply.

Satin, however, is not alone. He looks at Jon, bewildered at the intrusion.

"What are you doing here?" Satin's tone is colder than usual, but its harshness does little to hide the surprise.

Before Jon can utter a word, Satin orders him to leave. "Wait for me in my chamber," he says.

But as Jon takes a step back, the man that's been sitting with Satin speaks, "Wait, boy. Stay."

Jon only now looks at him. He is tall and dark haired, with a sharp nose and black eyes. His garb is expensive looking and elegant, his cloak a bright red. He looks at Jon with an unhidden interest, black eyes intrigued and daring at the same time, amused smile on his lips.

Jon looks at Satin, unsure what to do. Satin nods, indicating that Jon should obey.

"Come closer," the man commands, and Jon walks slowly towards them. Jon doesn't know where to look--the man's piercing eyes burn into him and the way he observes Jon makes his skin react in goosebumps. But Satin's face is not pleasant to look at either--he's obviously angry but trying to hide it--eyes whipping Jon for his foolishness.

Jon stands, silent, and bites his lips nervously.

"Why do you keep this boy hidden, Satin? Is this the way to treat your most generous and loyal customer?"

"My lord," Satin speaks, "the boy is not yet ready. I assure you, there are others, trained and just as lovely--"

"I don't want others." The man turns to Jon once more. "What is your name, boy?"

"J-Jon," Jon stutters before even thinking, and in that moment Satin turns white, mouth open in a silent gasp of disbelief. Satin's frown lasts only for a moment, but even without it, Jon knows he's made a mistake. He looks to the floor, suddenly feeling dizzy and cold. Why did he give his real name? Is he really such a fool?

"Look up, Jon," the man orders. When Jon looks at his eyes, that sly smirk again greets him, making him blush.

"Yes... quite lovely." The stranger turns to Satin. "A virgin?"

"Yes, my lord, but--"

"I want _him_."

"My lord," Satin protests. "He is new. Not yet trained. I wouldn't dare offer you a boy that might displease you. There are so many others, boys and girls, any kind you might like. This boy needs more time, and I promise you'll have him as soon as he's ready."

"Then make sure he's ready by tomorrow."

"My lord," Satin tries again, "I cannot allow it."

The man stands up, and Jon sees Satin shrink in his chair.

"Do you oppose me, lad?" His tone is cold and full of threat.

Satin swallows hard, but tries to stand his ground. "My lord, I--"

"You will stand when I speak to you!" The stranger interrupts, and Satin swiftly jumps to his feet.

"Forgive me, my lord." Satin's voice is frail and he looks so defeated, Jon wishes he could do something to shield Satin from this wrath. It is all his fault anyway. Yet he doesn't even dare move.

"As I said," the man continues, calmly now, "have him ready by tomorrow evening."

And Jon must commend Satin on his brave and stubborn effort, for Satin again speaks, "Please, Sire, I beg your forgiveness. Pick any whore you like. On the house. But I cannot allow you this boy just yet."

The man chuckles, then approaches Satin slowly. With every step he takes towards him, Satin takes a step back, until he's standing with his back pressed against the wall.

They stare at each other in silence for a long moment, Satin slender and pale with fear, the man tall and imposing, the dark look in his eyes promising danger.

The man takes a deep breath, lifting one hand. Satin flinches, probably expecting a blow, but the man only places the hand against the wall, right next to Satin's head, leaning. Satin relaxes, still trembling slightly, but then the stranger smiles, and just as Satin starts smiling back, his other hand grabs Satin firmly by the crotch. The smile on Satin's lips turns into a grimace of pain.

"You've got balls, boy," the man whispers. "I had to check the size, for they seemed so impossibly, _stupidly_ big."

Jon takes a step forward--he won't allow this, even if he dies right then and there. But Satin raises his hand, and the look he throws Jon tells him to stay where he is.

The man has seen the interaction between the two, and he laughs. "Feisty, isn't he?"

Satin replies quickly, "Forgive him, my lord, he's new. And untrained. Doesn't know better."

But the man, his hand still squeezing Satin's crotch, shakes his head. "No. You see, _this_ is exactly why I want _him_ , and not some trained whore. I want a genuine reaction. A crude gem. Untouched. Unspoiled. If he wishes to resist, he can try, I will not hold it against him. If he is in pain I want to see those honest tears. If he likes it, I want sincere sweet moans of pleasure. And if _you_ try to deny me that, I will tear your balls from your body with my bare hands and feed them to the desert snakes. Do you understand me, boy?"

By Satin's light squeal, Jon realizes the man has intensified the pressure on Satin's crotch.

" _Do you understand me_?" he snarls once again.

"Yes, Sire, I do. I understand. He will be ready. Tomorrow." Satin moans in pain.

The man releases him and Satin gasps, squinting.

"Go on, rub it. I know it hurts," the stranger says dismissively.

"Thank you," Satin exhales, palming his crotch, doubling over slightly, as he walks towards the desk.

Jon stands with his lips pursed, angry and scared. He realizes the man is someone important, since Satin hasn't called the guards and has ordered Jon to stay out of it as well. But he can't comprehend fully what has just happened.

The man walks towards the door, then pauses when he reaches Jon, giving him a good look. His eyes, curious and sly, now also show some warmth.

"Don't worry, boy. Jon, was it? I will not hurt you," he says to Jon kindly, then turns once more to Satin. "You know that. And I will pay double, for your pain," he points to Satin's crotch, "just because I'm nice like that. Have him ready tomorrow evening. Don't dress him up in some perfumed shit, just make sure he's clean, and he will be fine. You have my word."

Satin nods. "Yes, Sire."

When they're alone again, Jon rushes to Satin.

"Satin, I am so sorry. Are you alright?"

But Satin snaps at him angrily, "Why in the seven hells did you decide to come here, Jon? You know this is where I meet the customers."

"I am sorry, I thought it was only in the evenings. I thought you were alone. I... I am sorry."

Satin responds in an irritated manner, "Well, the damage is done. No use apologizing now."

He sits silently but his fingers, tapping on the desk nervously, betray his annoyance. Jon looks down to his feet, shifting a bit.

"Who was that horrible man?" he asks.

"He's not horrible at all. He's usually very pleasant, but he's not used to being refused. He's one of our most respectful clients, and a good friend of the owner. I had no choice. Or both me and you, _and_ your brother and Theon would be dead by the morrow."

Jon is slowly becoming aware of what is going to happen to him. His mouth is dry, and he takes one of the cups from the table, left by Satin and that important and respectful customer. It's wine, delicious and full, yet it tastes sour to him. He starts coughing.

When his coughing fit subsides, Jon asks, "So tomorrow...?"

Satin gives him a sorrowful look. "I am sorry, Jon. I tried. But I guess this was bound to happen sooner or later. I can't keep you boys hidden forever. You'd have to start whoring eventually." Then he seems mad again. "And it serves you right. Barging in like that. What were you thinking? Seven hells!" Satin swears angrily, then composes himself, ordering, "Go back to your chamber and stay there until I call for you."

Jon is sullen. He knows it's his fault, and he knows Satin tried, but it still seems unfair.

"You promised you wouldn't let anyone mistreat me. And now, just because some noble ass decides he'd fancy some--"

"He will _not_ mistreat you, Jon. And he's not just some noble ass. He's Oberyn Martell, the prince of Dorne. And don't you ever ever _ever_ come here again without my invitation."

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'd much rather..." Jon mumbles something, the last few words lost in a murmuring whisper.
> 
> "You'd much rather what?" Satin asks, still guiding his fingers along Jon's cheek.
> 
> "That it was you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My never-ending gratitude to my dear, sweet [DoubleBit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubeBit/pseuds/DoubleBit) for a friendship most kind, and for being a wonderful beta <3

Satin's mood has turned so sour he can't find anything to distract him from the foolish thing Jon has done and the inevitable predicament that awaits them the next day. He tries to behave as if nothing is amiss, mingling around the brothel, greeting customers, issuing orders. But it's a quiet night, the business is slow, and that leaves him time to ponder--his thoughts, without exception, all taking him to the unfortunate event earlier that day that sealed Jon's fate. And Satin can't do anything about it. He tried. Hard. But one doesn't refuse Oberyn Martell just like that and, in a way, he's lucky he got out of it with nothing more than some threats and a short-lived ache in his balls.

Jon was so reckless. So out of line. He should never have come to the west parlour. Satin frowns, his irritation resurfacing, then sighs. Despite his annoyance, he can't help but feel sorry for Jon. It really was a rare occurrence for Satin to meet anyone there during the daytime, but still, Jon has more than a few reasons to be cautious.

Satin drinks some wine to soothe his nerves, but anger and compassion chase each other inside him, overlapping, until he's so prickly and irritable that he can't stand to stay in the main wing a moment longer. He asks one of the older whores to handle things in his stead, excusing himself with a headache, and leaves for his chamber. They'll manage fine without him. Of course they can always call if he's needed, but that shouldn't be the case tonight.

He thinks about drinking himself into a stupor and falling asleep, but then decides against it--tomorrow will be hard enough without a hangover.

Satin enters his chamber, closing the door behind him. He doesn't light the candles, only undresses in the dark, swift and silent, and falls to his bed with a sigh.

Something stirs beside him. Satin doesn't even have the time to consider if it's a cat or gods know what, when a familiar voice whispers, "Please don't be angry with me?"

Satin's body goes rigid. His eyes are adjusting to the darkness and he can now see the shape beneath the sheets taking clearer form.

"Jon," he asks sharply, "what are you doing here?" Then he remembers the pouty boy, sulking over a silly mistake that he will pay very dearly for, and thinks he might be a bit too harsh. He adds more softly, "You startled me. I didn't expect to find you here."

And of course he didn't. Jon's been spending a lot of time in Satin's company, but finding him now in Satin's own bed is even more surprising than his presence in the west parlour.

"I didn't want to go back to my chamber. I don't think I can... face Robb and Theon now." Jon's voice is a gentle whisper, but Satin detects all the emotion Jon must be drowning in--self-pity, rage, defeat, fear.

"It's alright. You can stay here. You shouldn't worry about Robb and Theon, but you can stay." Satin is under the covers now, his body slowly relaxing. They are inches apart, but not touching. Still, Satin shifts slightly away. Just in case his desire gets the better of him.

They are quiet for a while, when Satin breaks the silence, "Have you been sleeping? Did I wake you?"

"No," Jon takes a deep breath, "I don't want to sleep."

Satin nods. "You know, Jon, tomorrow will come whether or not you sleep. You'll only be more tired to face it."

Jon is silent. Satin no longer feels blind in the darkness of the room. His eyes are adjusted to it now and Jon is more visible. Satin sees his messy hair, worried eyes and full lips forming a concerned pout. He wishes to comfort Jon, but he's not entirely sure what to say. Nothing will really make it better.

He remembers his first time--messy, confusing and painful--and tries to imagine what Jon's will be like. Oberyn Martell is a generous and caring lover. True, he takes what he wants, but he likes giving pleasure as much as he likes receiving it. All the whores who have lain with Oberyn rather enjoy him. All Jon needs to do is be pliant, accept what's coming and do as Oberyn tells him.

But those thoughts take him dangerously close to others, where he imagines himself showing this new world of pleasure to Jon. Kissing him gently, sucking him, licking every inch of his body. Oh, the sweet slow preparation Satin would certainly enjoy and drag on for as long as needs be to make Jon comfortable and eager. Oberyn won't be as patient. No one would.

He thinks about Jon's body, firm buttocks and soft white skin, hiding the tender puckered opening Satin is dying to sink his tongue into, kiss it until Jon is ready. And how careful and slow, gentle to no end he would be, leading his cock inside, inch by inch until he's fully buried in that moist tight sweetness. He would take his time, make Jon willing, as he'd strive to elicit whispers of encouragement, moans for more. Only then would Satin take him. He would put Jon's pleasure first. And that's how Oberyn is different--he won't stop if Jon asks him to. He paid to fuck this boy and that's what he'll do.

Satin licks his lips. Images in his head, of sweet tender lovemaking he'd share with Jon are making him hard. He shifts again, creating more space between them. It is futile, and dangerous, to think those thoughts.

"Jon," he starts, "you will be fine. Try not to worry. Oberyn Martell is..." Satin takes a deep breath, "he's pleasant, and he will treat you kindly. You only need to obey him, and brave through it."

Jon purses his lips, thinking, obviously not too happy with what Satin is saying.

"Just be polite, and do what you're told. And relax," Satin explains. "And I will be there afterwards, when all is done, to... take care of you." Satin pauses, rethinking his vague implication, and adds, "We will share a glass of wine and talk about the Prince of Dorne and how nice he was to you. Because he will be. You only need to comply."

He caresses Jon's cheek, trying to smile in the most reassuring way he can.

"I'd much rather..." Jon mumbles something, the last few words lost in a murmuring whisper.

"You'd much rather what?" Satin asks, still guiding his fingers along Jon's cheek.

"That it was you."

Satin pulls his hand back as if he'd been burned. Oh how he himself would rather that too. But it is mad to even think it.

Jon is quiet, looking down, but then he raises his eyes to Satin's and blinks. He's broken through his shy shell and is now looking at Satin, almost defiant, awaiting a reply.

Satin licks his lips. He must tread carefully here. "There's nothing in the world I would want more, Jon. But we can't. _Mustn't_. You know that."

"What if... we just... He... He won't know."

"Jon, he _will_ know. Don't even think about it."

Satin wishes to add, that afterwards, when Jon is no longer a virgin he'd be more than glad to take him up on that offer, but he doesn't say it. It will bring nothing good. He was already getting hard just thinking about fucking Jon, and now when Jon asked him, so bluntly... he's only human after all. He won't risk his life, or the lives of those boys, just for some salacious moment, no matter how sweet it might be.

"I'd still much rather if it was you," Jon repeats. "I mean, if you'd want. I... I trust you... more."

 _Oh seven hells!_ Satin wishes to scream. His erection is up to full mast now and it takes all the effort he can muster not to do exactly what Jon's asking him to. But Satin is a professional, and he's clever. He knows that Jon is simply choosing him as the lesser of two evils, the devil he knows. There's nothing else in Jon's invitation. And even if there was, the reasons why he mustn't touch Jon are clear. He's unsure how to return the compliment, or if he even should. But Jon hasn't been so outspoken until now, and Satin feels it must be rewarded.

"I know," he whispers. "And I would never betray that trust. So please don't feel that this thing you must do tomorrow means that I have. I've simply got no choice."

"I know," Jon whispers back. "You tried. Thank you. It was my fault anyway."

Satin again touches his cheek. "No, it could've happened to anyone. It could've been your brother. Or Theon. He's always skulking around."

But the mention of Robb and Theon makes Jon anxious again. He shifts. "Satin? Will you please not tell them?"

"Jon, they will know. We can't hide it."

"I don't want them to know," Jon insists. "They will tease me. Theon will."

"No." Satin shakes his head. "He won't. He knows the same awaits _him_ soon. He wouldn't dare. And if he does, I promise you, he'll get the whipping of a lifetime."

Jon nods. "So they will also... Soon?"

"Yes," Satin sighs, "I've been putting it off for too long anyway. And I don't think I can delay it for much longer."

"And Oberyn Martell?" Jon asks.

Satin thinks about it. He wants to appease Jon, but he doesn't want to lie--Jon has to be aware of what will happen to him, and that it will be painful.

"If I were to pick anyone, of all the people I know, all the people I have ever met, to... be the first to have you, I would pick Oberyn," Satin says. And it's true. He really would. In these circumstances.

"Really? Why?"

"He will treat you well. But you have to behave. Be agreeable. Do as he tells you. Try to do well and please him. He will reward your efforts with kindness and gentleness. But you must know, it will hurt, and it will not be easy. It might not even be pleasant. But it's better to comply."

"Will I have to do... the things you taught us?"

"Yes," Satin says. "You will. And that might feel strange, and you will probably be embarrassed by it, but try. Blush all you want, but do whatever he asks you to. As for the deed itself, follow his lead, listen to what he commands, grit your teeth through the pain and let him have you. I swear he will not be unkind."

Jon lies on his back, staring at the ceiling. "What about your first time? Was it... what was it like?"

"Nice," Satin lies.

"Did it hurt?"

"Of course it did. A little. But I was a good boy and followed orders well, so it was nice." It's kinder to lie now. Telling the truth about the young boy crying his eyes out as he was mercilessly fucked between two drunken merchants, the greedy proprietor who sent him off to work again the very next day while he still wasn't healed properly, his mother in tears, unable to protect him, all of it would scare Jon. And Jon's first time will be different. Satin knows Oberyn well by now to know that. But he's still worried. And the little pang of jealousy he feels is a distraction he tries to ignore.

Again, Jon turns onto his side, facing Satin.

"I just think... if we do it now-"

"Jon, no." Satin raises his finger. And all the ridiculous futility of that gesture, as if he's scolding a naughty child, stops being funny as Jon takes Satin's finger and brings it to his mouth.

He guides Satin's finger along his lips, then meekly, shyly, starts sucking. Satin pulls his hand back, but Jon grabs him tight, not letting go.

"Jon, stop it."

Jon does stop sucking, but he still holds Satin's hand, taking it slowly down his body, towards his crotch.

"Please. No one will know," Jon pleads, "I saw you, the way you look at me. I know you want it."

The feel of Jon's body, his skin, under Satin's unwilling fingers, makes Satin rethink. Will Oberyn really know? Or perhaps, Satin might tell him tomorrow that Jon is sick, or that he's fled, nowhere to be found. But when Jon finally guides Satin's hand down inside his breeches, Satin realizes that Jon is not even hard. He doesn't really want this. He is simply choosing the lesser evil. And Satin doesn't want that. No matter how much he desires this pretty boy. Satin wants him to be willing, he wants Jon to desire him too, not merely turn to him because others might be worse. Satin takes his hand back.

"Sleep, Jon. You know why we can't and why I won't. We shall speak of it no more. Good night." The harsh tone of his words works well--Jon does give up, turning around. And if he seems insulted, well Satin feels insulted too. And he tried to be nice, but that brought them nowhere, only made matters more complicated.

But after some time, when Satin has already started dozing off, tired and weary, he feels Jon's back press against him. He opens his eyes, reluctant to move. Jon might be sleeping, he is merely shifting in his sleep. Yes, that's what happened. Slowly, Satin moves slightly away. His cock stirs, but Satin again closes his eyes, willing himself to sleep.

Again, after a moment or two, Jon's back is firmly pressed against him, and now Jon even moves, his ass pushing back against Satin's crotch, hand brought behind, looking for Satin's cock.

Satin takes Jon hand. "Jon, if you don't stop, I will kick you out of here. I swear I will."

Jon stops, bringing his hand back to his chest and away from Satin. He even moves away. Then they lie in silence.

Satin again feels he's been too harsh. He knows he is right, but this pouting boy next to him feels almost too vulnerable.

"Jon?" he whispers.

No response.

Satin moves closer. "Jon?"

Again met with silence, Satin hesitates before draping his arm over Jon's shoulder.

Jon doesn't move, he doesn't say a thing. Satin understands he's offended. The refusal must have hurt him, and now he's probably trying to preserve at least some pride. Either that or he's sulking like a child. Either way, it saddens Satin. He presses his lips to the back of Jon's head.

"I am sorry," he whispers into the curls.

Jon's body gives a slightest shiver--response to Satin's warm breath on his neck, no doubt--and just when Satin thinks he will again remain silent, Jon says, "It's not your fault."

He touches Satin's hand still resting on his shoulder, movement slow and reluctant. It's not a caress, nor a pat. And yet he doesn't exactly push it away. Still, Satin takes his hand back, unsure how to read the touch.

In the dark, they are quiet. Satin thinks that this didn't go too well--not only has he failed to comfort Jon, but he has also managed to offend him. And over something which seems so unfair. He really would want to fuck Jon, more than anything. It's stupid how the fact that he mustn't is making him appear heartless, or disinterested, when he's neither. He hopes Jon will understand, once this bruise fades. And after Oberyn's had Jon, Satin can show him just how much he desires him. He wishes to say something else, but then decides against it. No use stirring the pot further.

Satin closes his eyes, sighing, when Jon suddenly shifts, turning around to face him.

Jon's eyes are sad, but he doesn't seem to hold a grudge. He licks his lips, and whispers, "Good night."

"Good night, Jon." Satin nods.

And his hand again, as if having a mind of its own, moves forward. Only, this time, Jon's hand meets it half-way. They slowly drift to sleep, fingers entwined.


End file.
